charles de la noue, seigneur de sainte marie, was a hard and self-contained man, but a groan and a bitter curse burst from him when he saw his indian wife in the hands of her kinsmen, from whom she could hope for little mercy. yet even now his old-fashioned courtesy to his guest had made him turn to de catinat with some words of sympathy, when there was a clatter of wood, something darkened the light of the window, and the young soldier was gone. without a word he had lowered the ladder and was clambering down it with frantic haste. then as his feet touched the ground he signalled to his comrades to draw it up again, and dashing into the river he swam towards the canoe. without arms and without a plan he had but the one thought that his place was by the side of his wife in this, the hour of her danger. fate should bring him what it brought her, and he swore to himself, as he clove a way with his strong arms, that whether it were life or death they should still share it together.
but there was another whose view of duty led him from safety into the face of danger. all night the franciscan had watched de catinat as a miser watches his treasure, filled with the thought that this heretic was the one little seed which might spread and spread until it choked the chosen vineyard of the church. now when he saw him rush so suddenly down the ladder, every fear was banished from his mind save the overpowering one that he was about to lose his precious charge. he, too, clambered down at the very heels of his prisoner, and rushed into the stream not ten paces behind him.
and so the watchers at the window saw the strangest of sights. there, in mid-stream, lay the canoe, with a ring of dark warriors clustering in the stern, and the two women crouching in the midst of them. swimming madly towards them was de catinat, rising to the shoulders with the strength of every stroke, and behind him again was the tonsured head of the friar, with his brown capote and long trailing gown floating upon the surface of the water behind him. but in his zeal he had thought too little of his own powers. he was a good swimmer, but he was weighted and hampered by his unwieldy clothes. slower and slower grew his stroke, lower and lower his head, until at last with a great shriek of in manus tuas, domine! he threw up his hands, and vanished in the swirl of the river. a minute later the watchers, hoarse with screaming to him to return, saw de catinat pulled aboard the iroquois canoe, which was instantly turned and continued its course up the river.
“my god!” cried amos hoarsely. “they have taken him. he is lost.”
“i have seen some strange things in these forty years, but never the like of that!” said du lhut.
the seigneur took a little pinch of snuff from his gold box, and flicked the wandering grains from his shirt-front with his dainty lace handkerchief.
“monsieur de catinat has acted like a gentleman of france,” said he. “if i could swim now as i did thirty years ago, i should be by his side.”
du lhut glanced round him and shook his head. “we are only six now,” said he. “i fear they are up to some devilry because they are so very still.”
“they are leaving the house!” cried the censitaire, who was peeping through one of the side windows. “what can it mean? holy virgin, is it possible that we are saved? see how they throng through the trees. they are making for the canoe. now they are waving their arms and pointing.”
“there is the gray hat of that mongrel devil amongst them,” said the captain. “i would try a shot upon him were it not a waste of powder and lead.”
“i have hit the mark at as long a range,” said amos, pushing his long brown gun through a chink in the barricade which they had thrown across the lower half of the window. “i would give my next year’s trade to bring him down.”
“it is forty paces further than my musket would carry,” remarked du lhut, “but i have seen the english shoot a great way with those long guns.”
amos took a steady aim, resting his gun upon the window sill, and fired. a shout of delight burst from the little knot of survivors. the flemish bastard had fallen. but he was on his feet again in an instant and shook his hand defiantly at the window.
“curse it!” cried amos bitterly, in english. “i have hit him with a spent ball. as well strike him with a pebble.”
“nay, curse not, amos, lad, but try him again with another pinch of powder if your gun will stand it.”
the woodsman thrust in a full charge, and chose a well-rounded bullet from his bag, but when he looked again both the bastard and his warriors had disappeared. on the river the single iroquois canoe which held the captives was speeding south as swiftly as twenty paddles could drive it, but save this one dark streak upon the blue stream, not a sign was to be seen of their enemies. they had vanished as if they had been an evil dream. there was the bullet-spotted stockade, the litter of dead bodies inside it, the burned and roofless cottages, but the silent woods lay gleaming in the morning sunshine as quiet and peaceful as if no hell-burst of fiends had ever broken out from them.
“by my faith, i believe that they have gone!” cried the seigneur.
“take care that it is not a ruse,” said du lhut. “why should they fly before six men when they have conquered sixty?”
but the censitaire had looked out of the other window, and in an instant he was down upon his knees with his hands in the air, and his powder blackened face turned upwards, pattering out prayers and thanksgivings. his five comrades rushed across the room and burst into a shriek of joy. the upper reach of the river was covered with a flotilla of canoes from which the sun struck quick flashes as it shone upon the musket-barrels and trappings of the crews. already they could see the white coats of the regulars, the brown tunics of the coureurs-debois, and the gaudy colours of the hurons and algonquins. on they swept, dotting the whole breadth of the river, and growing larger every instant, while far away on the southern bend, the iroquois canoe was a mere moving dot which had shot away to the farther side and lost itself presently under the shadow of the trees. another minute and the survivors were out upon the bank, waving their caps in the air, while the prows of the first of their rescuers were already grating upon the pebbles. in the stern of the very foremost canoe sat a wizened little man with a large brown wig, and a gilt-headed rapier laid across his knees. he sprang out as the keel touched bottom, splashing through the shallow water with his high leather boots, and rushing up to the seigneur, he flung himself into his arms.
“my dear charles,” he cried, “you have held your house like a hero. what, only six of you! tut, tut, this has been a bloody business!”
“i knew that you would not desert a comrade, chambly. we have saved the house, but our losses have been terrible. my son is dead. my wife is in that iroquois canoe in front of you.”
the commandant of fort st. louis pressed his friend’s hand in silent sympathy.
“the others arrived all safe,” he said at last. “only that one was taken, on account of the breaking of a paddle. three were drowned and two captured. there was a french lady in it, i understand, as well as madame.”
“yes, and they have taken her husband as well.”
“ah, poor souls! well, if you are strong enough to join us, you and your friends, we shall follow after them without the loss of an instant. ten of my men will remain to guard the house, and you can have their canoe. jump in then, and forward, for life and death may hang upon our speed!”
